


A Hard Bargain

by Thrace Addicted (Amidala_Thrace)



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-04
Updated: 2010-08-04
Packaged: 2017-10-10 22:52:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/105281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amidala_Thrace/pseuds/Thrace%20Addicted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You drive a hard bargain, Thrace."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Hard Bargain

**Author's Note:**

> Written by request of Lyssie from LJ, after a discussion on the Pyramid of Dreams community about whether and when Sam would have tried to give Kara's dogtag back to her after the rescue in LDYB II. This is my interpretation of how such a scene might go. Spoilers, obviously, through S2's "Lay Down Your Burdens, Part 2." Originally posted December 29, 2008.

She's never been on a high like this.

Totally smashed, of course, but that's to be expected. "Drunk as a Picon skunk" is the usual state of affairs for most of the pilots, deck crew and officers these days, Kara included. There's just something about a successful rescue mission and the promise of a new planet that makes everyone want to loosen up, partake in extra doses of Chief's rotgut and then … well, loosen up even more. There are unsubstantiated rumours that Tyrol has sweetened the pot by adding a little extra alcohol and perhaps some hallucinogenic substances to boot, but this is, of course, mere slander.

Right now Kara is perfectly happy here, in the officers' bunkroom, with Sam. _With Sam_. She keeps repeating those two magical words over and over to herself, wondering whether at some point she might begin to believe them. He is still alive, he is here and most importantly, he is finally _hers_. Hers and no one else's. None of the other pilots, whether female _or_ male, have dared to approach Sam after seeing him on Starbuck's elbow. She is proud of herself for that. Almost as proud that she's managed to keep one of her promises for once, that she organized the rescue mission and managed to find him — well, if not safe and sound, at least all in one piece, which is an accomplishment in and of itself. No one will question her motives after this.

Except for Lee, but gods, who cares? Kara'd told him exactly what she thought, and if that hadn't been enough, seeing her comfortably ensconced in the arms of another had certainly done it. She hadn't even bothered to still Sam's hand as it slid across her abdomen and up to caress her breasts, and the look on Lee's face when he saw _that_ was worth the price of admission.

Now, one and a half bottles later, she and Sam are considerably less clothed, and proportionately freer with their hands. Kara reacquaints herself with his bare chest, kissing a line down his sternum and then back up to swirl her tongue around each nipple until they harden delightfully to the accompaniment of his appreciative groans. She wriggles in his lap and suddenly there's another part of his anatomy that's hard too, one she delights in fondling through his pants.

Neither is he idle, despite the delicious noises he's making under her ministrations. She moves again as his fingers unzip her Buccaneers jacket and reach inside, pinching, poking, gently stroking.

"_Gods_, Sam," Kara whispers, leaning into his touch.

He pushes aside the jacket, now digging underneath her bra. "What do you still have this old thing for?"

"What, the bra?" Kara laughs.

"No, your jacket. I gave this to you back on Caprica."

"Exactly." She leans in to kiss him.

"I dunno, I just can't believe you kept it," he murmurs against her lips.

"In case you hadn't noticed, Sammy, we don't exactly get the top twenty Gemenon fashions in here every month. Besides, you've still got this." She picks up the dog tag, _her_ dog tag, from where it rests around his neck, dangling it so he can see.

"Frak, yeah." Sam reaches up to catch her hand, detaching the small piece of metal from its chain. "Here."

"What the hell are you doing?" Kara stares at his outstretched hand.

"It's yours, right?" He squints to read the tiny lettering. "K Thrace, serial number 462753 —"

"'Course it's mine, idiot, I mean why are you giving it back? You can keep it." She swats his hand playfully away and tangles her fingers in his hair, kissing him desperately, hungrily. As she'd hoped, he goes limp, groaning as she grinds against him.

"But Kara — _gods_ yeah, _right_ there —" Sam's hips jerk once, twice. "Baby, if we keep this up you're gonna make me ruin my last pair of underwear."

"That's not my problem, it's yours." She leers suggestively.

"Like hell it is." He shifts again, then gently grabs her wrist and trails it down, past his navel, until she feels her fingers close around his length as they fumble to release him. Kara watches with a grin as his eyes slide closed, his throat compulsively swallowing, and she strokes him a couple extra times just for effect, delighting in the way she can drive him crazy.

"I believe in spreading the wealth," Sam says breathlessly, and she notes that he's now pointing right at her exposed midriff.

"Frak you!" She slaps him playfully, starting a brief shoving match that almost knocks over their remaining bottle. "Hey, careful! That's my last one, and if you spill it I'll march you down to the hangar deck in your altogether to get some more."

"You started it." He's staring at her adoringly, his eyes shining with drink and love and, she thinks, happiness. "Now, put your fingers where your mouth should be."

"You've got a one-track mind, pyramid boy." But Kara obliges, mostly for the effect of watching his eyes slide closed in pleasure. She circles his cock slowly, languidly, catching the drop of pre-cum at the end on the tip of her finger and spreading it over him.

There's a soft _clink_, and they both pause to see that the dog tag in his hand has clattered to the floor. "Frak," Sam mutters, bending to scoop it up. "You know, you really should take this back."

"Forget it, Sammy," Kara says, taking the tag and reattaching it to his chain, her fingers slipping slightly on the soft metal. "I gave it to you to keep. I'm not taking it. Besides, I've got another one." She gestures to the tag's twin, around her neck.

"Yeah, but —" His latest objection ends in a long moan as she takes him in hand once again. "What if — what if — what if I — sign — up?" Sam somehow manages to gasp despite her squeezing him hard.

"What, for the Colonial Fleet?" She brays a laugh. "Gimme a break, Sam."

"It could ha-hap_pen!_" The unnatural emphasis on the last word is provoked by a finger just caressing his balls, cupping him softly.

"Yeah, maybe, in some frakked-up dream universe of yours," Kara snickers. "Listen, nugget, if you like taking orders so much, I've got one for you: on your back, in that rack." She points across the room, rising to shrug out of her jacket and pants.

"Hey, that rhymes." He grins goofily.

"Gee, you noticed. Just do it or I'll have you thrown in hack for insubordination."

Sam complies, snickering as he steps out of his pants and stretches out, fully naked now, on top of the gray covers. He can't resist taking himself in hand and stroking once, twice, sighing happily. "Gods, Kara, get over here."

"Hey, who's the one giving orders here?" She fixes him with a mock glare, striding imperiously over to the bed. "And if you have to ask, it isn't you."

He keeps smiling as she snatches his hand away and licks her lips instinctively at the sight of him standing straight up his belly.

"All right, nugget," Kara says, climbing over his legs, "prepare for an education."

"Yes, _sir_."

Sam hisses when she slides down on him, inch by inch, until they are both gasping, and she follows by rising up and sliding down again, and again, and again, and they curse and moan and urge each other on, frantically barreling towards their shared climax, the culmination of this wild night, this _amazing_ night, this night that they can finally share because of _her_, because she kept her promise, because she did something _good_ for once instead of frakking it up …

She's first, as with an explosion of curses she pants and gasps and — there, just _there_, oh _gods_ — it is upon her and she clenches and pants as the world tilts and she actually laughs, laughs because she can't ever remember feeling so happy and she doesn't want this to end and he's laughing too and then oh _gods_ he grips her arms and starts filling her and she leans down and kisses his nose and _lords I love the face he makes when he comes_.

Sometime later they both return to awareness, sated, Kara on top of him with her head near his heart. He strokes her hair, softly, twining it around his fingers, and she laughs and sees the dog tag.

"So," she whispers as his arms go around her, "do we have a deal?"

"A deal?" Sam's breath tickles her ear.

"The dog tag. You keep the frakking dog tag, Sammy."

He sighs, and she rises and falls to feel his laughter rumble through her.

"You drive a hard bargain, Thrace."

"Yeah, so?"

"Okay," Sam says finally, fingering the chain. "Okay."


End file.
